All For One, One For Both Being a Spirit Sucks
by authoressnebula
Summary: Season 2x01: In My Time Of Dying: Sam only missed John by a fraction of a moment. So...what if he hadn't missed him? What if he'd followed John down? An AU, what-if for the episode. Sam!whumpage, protective!Dean. It's all good.
1. Chapter 1

"He's stable. Check BP."

"Solid. He's in the clear."

Sam let out a sob, leaning against the doorway. From behind him, Dean stood, watching his own body lay motionless in the hospital bed. Whatever that thing had been, trying to take his life, it was gone. Which meant he was safe for the time being; hopefully long enough to figure out how to get back to the land of the living.

"Sir? He's stabilized. You're free to sit with him again."

Sam only nodded, but didn't move even as the last of the medial personnel left. He was leaning against the doorway like it was the only thing keeping him up. "Come on, Sam," Dean said, stepping around his brother into the room. "I'm not gone yet."

He glanced back at Sam, who was still leaning. He looked exhausted, drained, and Dean didn't like the looks of the cuts on his face. He was nursing his left shoulder, too. Hadn't the doctors taken care of him?

Sam finally moved forward to the chair beside the bed, then stumbled two steps in. Dean immediately leapt forward to grab him, and watched as his brother slipped through his hands. "Dammit Sam," Dean cursed, feeling helpless as Sam righted himself. "I can't help you right now. You've gotta take care of yourself. Please, Sam, just take care of yourself this once, would you? Because I might not..." Dean trailed off into a whisper, swallowing hard. Sam was always focused on everyone else; he never looked out for himself enough. That was Dean's job.

And the possibility of Dean not being around to do that job anymore was too quickly becoming a reality.

Sam fell into the chair and simply stared at the gentle rise of Dean's chest. Machines, because Dean couldn't breathe on his own. This whole thing was screwed up.

A harsh sob had Dean turning to his brother again, who had his face buried in his hands. Dean slowly stepped over to Sam, gently letting his hand rest over where Sam's shoulder was. "You'll be all right, Sammy," Dean said softly, each one of his brother's sobs like a knife in his heart. He wished he could save his brother the pain.

He didn't think he could save his brother from the inevitable fall-out when Dean left for good, though.

* * *

The magnifying glass of the Ouija board slid over the single word Sam least wanted to see. _Yes_.

Sam leaned back, brushing his trembling hand over his face. "No," he said, before shaking his head. "No, there's gotta be something we can do. Dad would know." He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he put pressure on his left shoulder. It still didn't feel right. Maybe he should've let the doctor look at it.

No. The doctors had other more critical patients they had to keep an eye on. Like Dean. Sam would be fine. So would Dean, if he had anything to say about it. He didn't care if it was a Reaper he was dealing with. They weren't taking his brother. Not when he'd just gotten Dean back.

_Is it after you?_

_Yes._

No way in hell were they taking him.

He turned down the hallway, bumping into a nurse as he did so. With his left shoulder, no less. Of course. "I'm so sorry," he apologized, trying to hide his wince.

It didn't work. "I really think you should let a doctor look at you," she said, crossing her arms. "You were in a major car accident, yet you've refused all medical help."

"I'm fine, really," he said, smiling at her. "If it gets any worse, I'll see a doctor, I promise."

The nurse didn't look convinced, but she simply shook her head and moved on. Good.

He was almost at his dad's room when he saw John step out, the bag of supplies in his good hand. Sam immediately ducked into the nearest hallway opening and watched. John made his way down the main hall, then quickly made his way down the stairwell.

Sam gritted his teeth. Dean was _dying_, and John was more concerned about the Demon than his own son. Sam should just let him have his macho showdown, then let himself get killed.

His chest tightened at the thought, and Sam started for the stairwell. No. As angry as he was at John, he wasn't going to let him die. He'd thought he'd lost him once before; he wasn't about to lose him again. Besides, John had been right: this entire thing was Sam's fault. If he'd killed the Demon when he'd had the chance, Dean wouldn't be near death, the Impala would be in one piece, and this entire nightmare would be _over_.

He pressed his back to the door, waited until everyone had passed by, then quickly slid through the door and down the stairs.

* * *

Dean slowly stood from his cross-legged sitting. Sam was already heading for the door, and Dean wanted to tell him to just take it easy, stop worrying over something he couldn't stop. Sam was going to run himself ragged at this pace, and he looked fairly ragged already.

He couldn't form the words, though. Not because he knew Sam wouldn't hear him, but because he didn't want to give up. He wanted to live so badly; he wasn't done living yet. Not by a long shot.

He could hear Sam apologizing for something, and then a soft female voice was heard, sounding stern. Dean frowned and made his way to the door.

The voices became clearer. "...major car accident, yet you've refused all medical help."

"You _what_?" Dean said incredulously, staring at Sam, who was giving her his patented 'Don't worry about me' smile. Dean's gaze narrowed. "You are _so _dead when I wake up. You stupid asshole; why the _hell_ would you refuse treatment?"

"I'm fine, really," Sam said in his annoyingly calm tone. Dean wanted to deck him.

"Oh yeah, you're fine. You look like your face went a few rounds with a blender and lost, but you're fine," Dean snapped.

"If it gets any worse, I'll see a doctor, I promise," Sam said, causing Dean to snort.

"Yeah, right. You might as well have promised to bring her the frickin' _moon_ to her backyard!" Stupid idiot had no intention of ever seeing a doctor.

The nurse moved aside without pressing the matter. "Oh come on, tell me you didn't fall for that!" Dean called out after her, before turning and jabbing a finger in Sam's face. "I'm _so_ waking up just to drag your ass to see a doctor."

Suddenly Sam ducked down to hide in the opening for another hallway. "What the...?" Dean said, trailing off when he saw his dad stepping out of his room with the supplies Sam had brought him. He headed for the stairwell, and Dean watched him go with mixed feelings. He didn't believe that John was selfish enough to put an entire hospital at risk just to get revenge, but he didn't know what else John could be doing.

He turned to Sam and was startled by the rage that was so evident on his brother's face. He knew that the two were always confrontational with the other, but this went well beyond argument angry. There was pain in his expression too, though, and Dean wished for the umpteenth time that he was solid or that Sam could hear him. Anything to get what looked like perpetual misery off his face.

Sam moved forward, and Dean followed. He stopped for a brief moment outside the stairwell, and Dean's eyes widened. "Don't you dare go down there, Sam," he warned. "I'll kick your ass so hard-"

The door opened and Sam slid through. "Sonuva_bitch_," Dean cursed, following after him. It was bad enough that his dad might be in trouble and Dean couldn't help, but Sam leaping into whatever their dad was getting involved in? Not cool. At all. How the hell was Dean supposed to protect him?

They reached the last door at the bottom, leading to the basement, and Dean rushed ahead of Sam, needing to know if there was something waiting. Even though he knew he couldn't do anything about it, he still had to try.

The only room that was really down in the basement was the boiler room. From inside, Dean could hear a low voice speaking. John. There was a dim glow through the windows. None of it equaled anything good.

Sam had made his way to the doors at that point, and carefully pushed one door open a fraction. Dean could see John clearly now, kneeling on the floor inside an array of lit candles and various herbs. So not good. "What the hell are you doing, Dad?" Dean whispered.

John finished chanting and lifted something over a black fixture of sorts. Before Dean could say anything (not that it would've mattered), Sam slid the door open enough to get through and quickly hurried behind a large set of pipes. Dean swore but followed after, standing behind his brother. At the same time, John dropped whatever he'd been holding on top of the black fixture, causing it to explode into tiny fireworks.

The fireworks died, and all three waited with breaths held.

* * *

Silence echoed in the boiler room. Sam tried to control his heartbeat, which was pulsing wildly and felt like a jackhammer in his chest. Did he have any weapons on him? No, not even a handgun. This entire thing was a stupid idea. He was going to take a swing at John, once he-

"Hey! You can't be down here," a voice said, and Sam jumped, startled. A maintenance man was glaring at John. Sam wondered exactly how John was going to explain the contents on the floor.

"Upstairs," the man said, before turning away.

"Yeah..." In one swift move, John pulled the Colt from his waistband and had it cocked at the man. "How stupid do you think I am?" John asked.

Sam's eyes widened, then widened impossibly further when the man turned around with yellow eyes. "Well I'm not putting you down as the sharpest tool in the box, summoning _me_," the Demon said, smiling. Two orderlies stepped out of the shadows, their eyes black. John spared them a glance as they stood behind him, but kept his gaze focused on the Demon. "I have to admire your guts, John, but really, what were you intending on? Did you summon me to try and kill me?"

"No," John said, surprising Sam. Then why the hell had he summoned the Demon?

John stood for a moment more, then to Sam's shock, lowered the Colt. "I wanna make a deal," he said.

The Demon looked intrigued, and Sam knew whatever his dad had in mind, it wasn't good. "I'm listening," the Demon said, and it was smiling again.

"I'll give you the Colt," John said, and Sam's jaw couldn't drop any further until he heard John's next words. "But you gotta help Dean."

All of it was to save Dean. Why hadn't John just _told_ Sam? Sam would've helped, would've made sure everything was in order and all the items were there, would've...

Would've been involved and John would've had both of his sons in danger. He'd been trying to protect Sam. Sam's eyes burned, and he was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost missed what the Demon said.

"No deal."

John looked as shocked as Sam felt. "So you don't want the Colt?" John said, attempting to recover, but Sam could easily hear the tremor in his voice. This was Dean's only shot, and they all knew it.

"Oh, it's a good deal, there's no doubt about it," the Demon said, leaning forward with a grin. "But you still need to sweeten the pot."

"With?"

The Demon shrugged carelessly. "Oh, I suppose I could accept the Colt...if your soul came attached."

Sam froze. No. The price was too high. Dean would hate himself if John took the deal. He shook his head, feeling helpless to do anything. _No, no, please no, we'll find another way Dad, don't do it, nopleaseno_.

The Demon paused a moment as John grappled with the choice. Yellow eyes pierced through the darkness, and Sam inhaled sharply when they locked with his own. The Demon cocked its head, considering something for a moment, smirked, then turned to John. "Consider it for awhile. I'll be here when you decide."

John looked suspicious. "Take the time to say goodbye to your boy," the Demon prodded, and John stepped away, hand still wrapped around the Colt. Sam pressed himself up against the pipes as he dad came close enough to see him. John's gaze, however, was firmly locked on the Demon and the orderlies. Colt firmly in his grasp, John left the boiler room.

The Demon paused, as if listening, then turned to Sam. "Come on out, Sammy-boy. I think we need to talk."


	2. Chapter 2

"I wanna make a deal."

"Oh god, _no_," Dean whispered, staring at John's determined face. "I'll kick Sam's ass first, and then yours." He knew what his dad was going to make a deal for. Or really, _who_ he was going to make a deal for. The only thing Dean didn't know were the betting chips.

"I'm listening," the Demon said, and Dean glared at it.

"I'll give you the Colt, but you gotta help Dean."

He'd been afraid of that. "No!" Dean shouted. "That Colt's all we've got! You are _not_ trading that thing for me!"

"No deal," the Demon said. John and Sam looked like they'd been double punched, and Dean felt slightly winded himself.

"What do you mean, 'no deal'?" Dean demanded. "It's because of that damn thing that you carved me up like a frickin' turkey!"

John struggled to keep his edge on. "So you don't want the Colt?"

"Oh, it's a good deal, there's no doubt about it, but you still need to sweeten the pot." The sonuvabitch was grinning at John like a cat who'd caught the mouse, and Dean suddenly didn't like where this conversation was going.

John looked hesitant. "With?"

"Oh, I suppose I could accept the Colt..." Dean froze as he waited for the punch line. "...if your soul were attached."

"NO!" Dean howled, staring in horror as his dad looked like he was considering it. The stupid idiot was _considering_ it. "Dad, no! Don't you _dare_! Please no," he whispered brokenly. _Dad, no. Please don't. Please._

Dean turned to Sam, who was shaking his head and mouthing 'no' over and over again. Then he froze, inhaling sharply, and Dean followed his gaze in confusion until he met yellow eyes. The Demon was staring straight at Sam.

"No freakin' way, you yellow-eyed sonuva_bitch_," Dean snarled, stepping in front of Sam. "I don't care what plans you have for him. You're not getting him. Not now, not ever."

Then the Demon blinked and seemed to refocus on something. It took Dean a minute to realize it was _him_ the Demon was looking at. A moment later, the damn thing smirked at him. Dean stared in shock: the Demon could hear and see him? Their gazes broke as the Demon turned back to John. "Consider it for awhile. I'll be here when you decide. Take the time to say goodbye to your boy."

"He's not deciding anything," Dean snapped. "Since I know you can hear me, you miserable bastard, listen carefully: there isn't going to be a deal with my dad. At all. Go back to hell."

By this point John had left the boiler room, taking the Colt with him. Good.

Silence filled the air for a short time, before the Demon spoke once more. "Come on out, Sammy-boy. I think we need to talk."

Sam bit his lip but stepped out from behind the pipes. "Are you nuts?" Dean asked, glaring at his brother. "You've got no weapon at all. He could snap you in two!"

"It's not nice to eavesdrop, Sammy," the Demon said, tsking as Sam stepped closer. "Very rude behavior."

"It's Sam," Sam said, voice low. He moved forward cautiously, eyes glancing between all three demons in the room. Dean kept his eyes on everyone in the room, but especially on his brother. This entire situation screamed wrong, but Dean really couldn't do anything about it. Being a spirit _sucked_.

"What would your dad say about your behavior?" the Demon continued, ignoring Sam. "Of course, I'm not sure what he'd think about what you're intending to do, either."

Dean frowned. "Intending to do? He came down to follow Dad." He turned to his brother, not really sure why he was expecting a confirmation when Sam couldn't hear him. Sam looked unhappy but determined, and _that_ was never a good sign. "What's going through that head of yours, Sam?" Dean asked.

"You didn't like the idea of Daddy Dearest sacrificing the Colt and his soul, did you?" the Demon asked. "So what _do_ you want, Sam?" It smiled, grotesque and hideous. "Gotta speak up to make a deal."

"What? No! No deal!" Dean said angrily, glaring at Sam, who still hadn't spoken. Fear was churning inside him, and he stepped right in front of Sam again, holding his right hand out as if to stop the Demon. "No. Deal," he said, clenching his teeth.

Sam took two steps forward, moving straight through Dean. Dean shuddered at the sensation of someone swimming in water, except _he_ felt like the water. It wasn't cool. "Well?" the Demon prompted, raising its eyebrows. "What's it gonna be?"

"Me for Dean's life," Sam said quietly. "Not just my soul; all of me."

Dean's jaw dropped. Sam's entire stance screamed defeat, but he wasn't walking away. He was dead serious. "The entire reason he's here is because of me," Sam said, his eyes shining. He stuck his jaw out and kept going. "You said you've got plans for me. I won't...I won't put my family in danger when it happens."

"I'm not sensing a great deal of hope here, Sam," the Demon said, barely able to contain its grin. "Shame, that. To give up so young...your daddy didn't raise you to be a quitter, but that's why Dean was always his favorite: Dean never gave up on anything. Like hunting."

If anything, Sam's shoulders slumped further, and his face showed more pain and misery. "Leave him alone," Dean managed, still reeling from Sam's quiet words. The worst part was, Sam believed it. He really thought this entire thing was his fault.

Dean suddenly wanted to punch his dad for what he'd said to Sam earlier. _If you'd killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened...your brother would be awake right now._

And Sam had taken them to heart.

Dean had never wanted so badly to punch his brother, then hug him. "You're a freakin' idiot, you know that?" Dean choked out, his throat suddenly tight. He'd lost count of how many ass-kickings he owed his brother now; he'd just have to settle for a huge one to cover all the bases.

"Are you going to take the deal or not?" Sam said suddenly, glaring at the Demon. "It's me you want, isn't it? Not my dad?"

"Oh, I want your daddy too," the Demon said, a cocky grin blooming. "But you're right, you're my first concern. Ah Sam, what I've got in store..."

Sam looked faintly nauseous. Dean knew how he felt. "As for the deal..." Dean inhaled sharply. Probably didn't have to, as a spirit, but old habits were hard to break and all that. "I'll think about it," the Demon finished, flashing pearly whites. Dean breathed out harshly, then turned to glare at Sam. He wondered if he could will his brother to get back upstairs, away from the Demon.

If the bastard could hear him, then Dean was going to give it an earful. He wasn't letting his dad make a deal, and he sure as hell was _not_ letting Sammy make a deal. If it meant that Dean had to die, then...then so be it. It was a quiet revelation, but one he accepted as soon as it crossed his mind. He still didn't want to die, but if it meant protecting his family, protecting his little brother, then he'd do it. He'd always known he'd go out saving Sam; he guessed it was now, and not later, that he'd do it.

Whether his mental willing did the trick, or something in Sam's head made him walk towards the door, Dean didn't know. But Sam was indeed heading to the exit, and Dean watched him go until he couldn't see his brother anymore. Then he swiveled in one swift move to the Demon, glare firmly in place. "How's life on the other side treating you, Dean-o?" the Demon said cheerfully. "Think of the insight this'll give your career."

"Too bad my career isn't going past this hospital," Dean said, a contemptible smirk on his face. "And you won't get any of us, especially not Sam."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," the Demon said, walking towards the back of the room. "Your brother makes a good argument and case. He'd have been a great lawyer. Well, that is, if you hadn't come for him that night a year ago."

"I wasn't the one who set his dreams on fire, you sonuvabitch," Dean seethed. It was trying to pull the same trick it had at the cabin: dig to the deep recesses of their beings to pull out the guilt and fear. He couldn't believe he'd listened to it and let it goad him into taking the very obvious bait. John had never picked favorites, and his family _did _need and want him.

If he needed proof of that, well, today would definitely cinch that.

"Yeah, you're right, that was all me," the Demon said, leaning forward with a grin as if about to impart a secret. "But it was _fun_."

Dean lunged at the Demon before he could think about it, and the Demon merely laughed and slid away, letting Dean fall and hit the floor. "I think I'll take Sammy up on his offer," the Demon said, sounding thoughtful. Dean glared up into yellow eyes. "His guilt is so sweet to taste..."

"You leave him _alone_," Dean said, his voice dangerously low. "Or so help me, I'll-"

"Need to be alive to kill me, Dean-o," the Demon said. "And that means that I have to take one of them up on the offer. And, like I said, Sammy drives a hard bargain. Tell you what; I'll let you see each other as you're passing. As you're heading back to the land of the living, I'll pull Sammy through into hell, give you two a second to say goodbye."  
"NO!" Dean shouted, surging upwards, but the Demon had vanished. A quick glance around proved that both orderlies were also gone.

Dean didn't waste any more time than that. He made a dash for the door and pushed hard for the stairs, hoping he'd get up to his brother and dad before the Demon took one of them.

Before the Demon took Sam.

He made it to the main floor when he saw it. The ghostly specter he'd seen before was waiting in the middle of the hall, unseen by all the people passing by. For a moment, Dean was frozen to the spot. He remembered the pain he'd felt when it had tried to take him.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward. "You're here for me, aren't you?" he said, stopping in front of it. "Then take me. I'm supposed to be dead, aren't I? Finish the job already; do your Reaper-ing or whatever the hell you need to do. I'm ready to go."

"No you're not," it hissed, and Dean couldn't help the shudder that passed through him. Its voice was like icicles digging into his chest and face, and sounded like a dying snake. Despite the feeling and sound, the voice was actually calm, not angry, which Dean thought it might be. He'd fought with it, after all. It didn't sound pissed.

Which was a good thing, because Dean really didn't want his ride to the other side to be ticked off with him.

Something moved beyond the Reaper, and Dean's attention was diverted just in time to see Sam enter his hospital room. He was out of time. Any minute now, the Demon was going to show up-

"It's not your time," the Reaper said, causing Dean to turn back.

"What?"

"I thought it was," it said, and now it sounded puzzled. "But it's not. You have a purpose in life, and you haven't completed it yet. I cannot take you."

Shit. If Dean didn't die, then Sam was going to get taken by the Demon. He was going to make the deal, and Dean was going to know that Sam had gone to hell because of _him_-

Wait a minute.

"I'm not supposed to die," Dean said. "I just want to clarify things."

The Reaper nodded, which wasn't an easy feat considering how it was shaped.

"Then put me back," Dean said impatiently. "I've got to get back in my body."

"I cannot do that," the Reaper said, sounding sincerely apologetic, and THAT only heightened Dean's anger.

"What do you mean, you can't do it? What, you can only pull souls out of bodies, but you have no clue how to put 'em back? It can't be all that much more difficult!"

"I know how to do it. It's not supposed to be my task, though. My job is merely to claim souls, not take them."

Dean glanced over at his hospital room anxiously. "I met up with a Reaper before; he had no problem putting life back into a body."

"A body that wasn't as near death as you are," the Reaper hissed softly. "It was also bound by black magic to do the deed. I'm sorry, Dean Winchester. I cannot do what you ask of me."

"Then how am I supposed to live?" Dean yelled, panic truly starting to set in. Any second now, and his baby brother was going to be gone for good.

The Reaper, in response, disappeared. Dean stared in shock, then began to run for the room. There had to be a way back in. Something he hadn't tried before.

_Anything_.

* * *

Sam trudged up the stairs, thinking over everything the Demon had said. It would take him; it wanted him more than it wanted their dad. That was good.

That was what he wanted, right?

No. What he wanted was Dean alive and healthy and making smart-ass remarks and their dad to actually open up for once in his life and tell them what he was doing, let them in.

He didn't think he was going to live long enough to see either. Or be around long enough. If what the yellow-eyed bastard had said was true, then Sam wasn't going to die.

No; there was a fate worse than death waiting for him.

He made his way down the hall and stopped briefly outside of Dean's room. John was inside, seated in a chair beside Dean's bed. The only sounds were the quiet beeps from the cardiac machine.

Slowly he entered the room. John glanced up at him after a moment, and frowned slightly. "Where have you been?" he asked, and if Sam had been up to it, he would've said the tone was accusatory.

He didn't really care right now; the last thing he wanted to remember of his dad was a fight.

"Just walking around," he said truthfully. "I just..." He glanced at Dean, eyes closed and probably never to open again.

Unless the Demon kept its word, and then...Sam closed his own eyes. This was so screwed up, such a _mess_. One he needed to fix.

"You should stick close," John said, then added after a moment, "Just in case something changes with Dean."

"Or just in case Daddy makes a deal with a demon," a voice said from behind, and Sam whirled around to see the yellow-eyed Demon standing in the corner of the room. The door swung shut to Sam's right, and Sam forced himself to not look.

John stood, strong and solid despite his arm and injuries. "I didn't make the deal; we didn't agree, remember?"

The Demon snapped its fingers. "Oh that's right; we didn't shake on it. We should've, you know. Because then I wouldn't have been tempted by a better offer."

John frowned. "Better...?" The Demon shifted its gaze, staring straight at Sam. Sam clenched his fists.

"Sammy?" John said, and the shock in his tone made Sam turn to him. Sam didn't think he'd ever seen his dad so surprised, but the emotion was quickly replaced with one Sam had seen many times before: anger. "You made a deal?"

"No, we discussed one. Like you did," Sam said, before turning to the Demon. "We didn't shake on it, like you just said."

"No, but I've decided we should," the Demon said, and Sam felt his blood run cold. This was what he'd wanted; this was what he deserved. This would be the thing that would bring Dean back.

The Demon stepped forward, and Sam couldn't help the involuntary step back he took. John moved towards him, but with a single hand the Demon sent him flying back towards Dean's bed. "Oh, don't worry Sammy," the Demon crooned. "It won't hurt...too much. You'll like playing for the other side."

Suddenly the chair John had been sitting in was thrown across the room. Sam jumped even while John tried not to show how startled he was. When Sam looked back at the Demon, it looked amused. What the hell? "Getting the hang of it, are you?" it said, and Sam froze. He'd completely forgotten who was also hanging around the hospital.

_Dean_.

The curtains began to rustle as a wind picked up in the room. The amused expression faded from the Demon's face. "You'll have to do better than that, Dean," it chided, but there wasn't any humor in its tone.

"_Dean_?" John said incredulously, glancing around the room. "He's here?"

"He's been here," Sam tried to explain, but a faint voice in the wind, one he knew so well, caught his attention.

_Leave him alone!_

The Demon smirked and stepped towards Sam. "Sorry Dean; can't do that. Your brother made an offer. I'd be unwise not to take it. You know how business is." John hurried forward again, but was immediately sent flying to be pinned against the wall, wincing when his arm was struck. Sam tried to move to help him, but the Demon was suddenly in his way.

The small table by Dean's bedside came flying through the air. Sam ducked in time, but it clipped the Demon on the shoulder. It didn't look phased; more than anything, it looked pissed. It seemed to be focused on something intently in front of Dean's bed, and Sam couldn't help but turn and look. He couldn't see anything; nothing moved out of the ordinary, no shimmer of air to denote that someone or something was there.

But Sam knew his brother was there. If the flying objects hadn't been a clue, the hardening look on the Demon's face definitely was. "You're no longer a part of this," the Demon finally hissed. "And when you are, boy, it'll be you against your brother. I think I'll enjoy making Sam kill you."

Sam turned, horrified towards the Demon, but the Demon had already reached him. He placed a hand on Sam's head, giving him a callused grin. "Time to go, kiddo," it said.

The next thing Sam knew, he was falling against the wall hard. The room spun alarmingly for a moment, and there was a sudden screeching noise accompanied with shouting, before everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3 End

Dean slid into the room just as the door shut behind him. He turned towards the corner, already knowing who he'd see. "You sonuvabitch," he growled, stalking forward. John and Sam were already standing tense and ready. "Leave them alone. You're not getting either one of them."

"I didn't make the deal," John was saying. "We didn't agree, remember?"

"No deals were made at ALL!" Dean said angrily, glaring at the yellow-eyed Demon. "And I swear I'll rip you apart if you make one."

The Demon ignored him, and Dean only spared it another glare before hurrying over to his bedside. He was out of time. "Oh that's right; we didn't shake on it," the Demon said. It was Dean's turn to ignore it. There had to be a way back in. "We should've, you know. Because then I wouldn't have been tempted by a better offer."

He was _way_ out of time. He didn't need to hear his dad's confused question followed by his stunned, soft whisper of Sam's name. The Demon had made its choice, and if Dean couldn't find a way back into his body _right now_, it was going to take Sam.

He'd already tried diving in, like the movies always had the character do. He'd tried stepping into a nurse's body earlier (she'd been fairly hot, and it was all for research purposes, of course), and that hadn't worked, either, which had shattered his _Ghost_ dreams. Of course, he'd managed to knock the glass off the table, but...

"We didn't shake on it, like you just said," Sam was saying now, and Dean turned at the obvious fear in his brother's voice. Sam was trying desperately to keep cool and calm, but Dean knew Sam better than anyone, and right now, his baby brother was terrified.

"Dammit Sam, don't _do_ this," Dean pleaded. "Just say the deal's off. I don't care if I die; it's not worth this. Please just let it go!"

But the Demon was already moving towards Sam, who immediately stepped back towards the bed. John's attempt to get to Sam was ended by a simple wave of the Demon's hand, and Dean had a sudden brainwave. If the Demon could see him, could hear him, then maybe, just maybe...

Hell, it had moved away from Dean in the basement, hadn't it? Maybe this would work. Dean couldn't think of another way. The only thing with the power to get Dean back in his body was the thing that had caused him to fall into the spirit crack in the first place.

"Oh, don't worry Sammy," the Demon said, continuing to move forward. Sam was frozen now, fear evident on his face. "It won't hurt...too much. You'll like playing for the other side."

"The hell he will!" Dean shouted, letting his anger and every other emotion he had rolling inside him come to the surface. He shoved the chair his dad had been sitting in as hard as he could, and watched in satisfaction as it hit the wall with a cracking sound. Dean turned to the Demon, and found it watching him with obvious amused.

"Getting the hang of it, are you?" it said, grin widening.

"Yeah," Dean said, his rage still boiling within him, begging to be released. "I think I am."

He breathed out, letting the fury and anger and everything else fill him, and a wind began to fill the small hospital room. The curtains rustled, not a lot, but enough. The Demon didn't look as amused anymore. John's look was back to shock, but Sam looked hopeful and a tad bit worried.

He better be worried; he had an ass-kicking like no other coming his way when Dean was back in his body.

"You'll have to do better than that, Dean," the Demon said, annoyance popping into its tone. Dean gave him the biggest, most aggravating grin he could think of to help further the annoyance along.

"He's here?" John called out, glancing around the room. The Demon turned its gaze back to Sam, and Dean's grin fell back to a firm line of anger.

"Leave him _alone_!" Dean shouted, clenching his fists. The Demon barely spared him a glance, its attention still on Sam.

"Sorry Dean; can't do that. Your brother made an offer. I'd be unwise not to take it. You know how business is." John made another move forward, and the Demon quickly pinned him against the wall. That thing was way too close to Sam for Dean's liking.

Dean ran through the bed and his body to reach the only other loose object in the room: a small table by his bedside. He lifted it easily and threw it, knowing Sam would duck in time. The Demon was barely hit, but Dean had made his point: physical violence could and would be used against it to keep Sam safe. Plus, it had taken its attention off of Sam, and back on Dean, just like Dean needed.

Time to bring in the big guns and finish this. "You know what was unwise? Trying to play the Winchesters. That's all you've done, and really, where's it gotten you?" Dean said, glaring as he moved to the front of his bed. "Your daughter's rotting in hell because you tried to play us. Your son's dead, and by the way, where do demons go when they die? I can only think of a nasty hell pit reserved for the unluckiest of demons who actually do die. Man that must've killed; you were right there, possessing my dad, and your son was shot right through the head. Of course, you could've done something to help, because you were right there. Guess you didn't care enough, which means all that spiel you fed us back at the cabins? Just a story. A good story, I'll give you that, but just a story," Dean said. He had no idea if any of this was hitting home, but from the way the Demon was glaring at him, he thought he might've hit a few nerves.

"You're no longer a part of this," the Demon snapped at him, giving Dean a joyless grin. "And when you are, boy, it'll be you against your brother. I think I'll enjoy making Sam kill you." Then it was right there, with a hand on Sam's head, giving Sam a wide grin even as Sam's eyes widened in obvious fear. "Time to go, kiddo."

"_NO_!" Dean screamed, jumping to Sam's side and straight into the Demon's hand.

The explosion was instantaneous. Sam was thrown one way, and Dean was thrown another. Suddenly Dean was being weighed down, unable to move, and fighting to breathe.

_Breathe_.

It had worked.

Even as he choked on the tube down his throat, John was hitting the call button and shouting for help. He also had the Colt aimed at the Demon, who glared at him before vanishing. John kept the gun aimed towards where the Demon had been, but as voices were heard in the hallway, he placed it in the small of his back, tucking it quickly under his shirt.

Doctors and nurses flooded into the room, several immediately stepping over to help Dean and the heart machine, which was shrieking out of control. One of the nurses came forward with a sedative, but a doctor stopped her, staring at the machines with a stunned expression. "Take it out," he said, shock in his voice. "His levels are back up."

The tube was removed, leaving Dean gagging for a few moments. "Just breathe nice and slow, sweetie," the nurse said.

"I need a gurney in here!" one of the doctors called out, and Dean glanced over the side of his bed. Collapsed in a heap against the wall was Sam.

Before Dean could protest, a gurney was being wheeled into the room, and the orderlies who had brought it in were helping to lift Sam up. "Don't take him," Dean found himself saying, his voice scratchy and hoarse. "Please, just..."

"He'll be fine, Dean," his dad said from beside him, and Dean turned towards him. John was gazing at him in almost wonder, but did manage a small smile. "Let them work."

"He could be..." Dean couldn't finish. Maybe he hadn't gotten there in time; maybe Sam wasn't in there anymore.

John's face fell into a blank stare. "I know, Dean. I know. Let them work."

"You should really rest," one of the nurses told Dean.

Dean instead turned away from the both of them to watch as they quickly wheeled Sam down the hallway.

* * *

When Sam came to, it was to a white ceiling. _There's stucco ceilings in Hell. Figures._

"I hope you're enjoying the bed rest," a voice said to his left. A very familiar voice, and Sam swore he would've given himself whip-lash considering how fast his head snapped to the side.

Dean was sitting in a wheelchair next to his bedside. There was a nice scar on his forehead from the accident, he looked pale and tired, and there was a scratchy sound to his voice. It was Dean, though. Dean was alive and okay, and Sam could've laughed and cried all at once.

Dean didn't look happy, though. If anything, Dean looked angry. "Because I swear as soon as you're out of that bed, and I'm out of this wheelchair and I can actually frickin' stand on my own without feeling like I'm gonna topple? I'm going to kick. Your. _Ass_," Dean hissed.

Dean was beyond angry. Dean was _pissed_. "Dean-"

"Don't you dare 'Dean' me," Dean snapped, breathing harshly. "I followed you all over this frickin' hospital, Sam. I know that you refused treatment, which, by the way, genius move. You had a sprained muscle in your shoulder, your shoulder was this close to being dislocated, a concussion, and blood loss. Good job," he said, sounding anything but praising.

Sam swallowed. "Dean, I-"

"Then, and this is my favorite part, you almost _sold yourself to a demon_. What part of that screams 'good idea' to you?"

"It would've killed you if it had been Dad who made the deal," Sam explained softly.

"And it wouldn't have if it'd been you?" Dean said incredulously. "_Dammit_ Sammy!" He coughed suddenly, wincing and pressing a fist over his heart.

Sam immediately reached over for the call button. "Leave it, I'm fine," Dean said, taking a deep breath in and slowly releasing it. "I'm just gonna be sore for awhile."

"Dean, they said there was damage to your heart," Sam said, sitting up as best he could and glaring at Dean. His shoulder _did_ hurt like hell. "They said there was no possible way to wake you up, that you were probably never _going _to wake up, and that you were..." He swallowed hard and forced his lower lip to stop trembling. The possibility of losing Dean was still too vivid in his memory.

Dean seemed to soften at that. "Turns out, it didn't actually touch my heart. It was planning to, I think, but it only bruised the muscles around it. So yeah, breathing's gonna be a pain for a little bit, and my heart's weak from the blood loss, but gimme a couple of weeks, and I'll be back on my feet. There shouldn't be any lasting effects. I'll be all right."

"But you _weren't_, Dean. You had a Reaper after you, for crying out loud, and it was because of me! If I'd taken the Demon out when I'd had the chance, or if I'd watched more carefully and seen the truck-"

"Don't you _dare_," and Dean was furious now, leaning forward over Sam's bed. Sam slid back into the bed, Dean looming over him for the first time in a long time. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was. Dad was wrong to say what he did," Dean said, pursing his lips together. "And trust me, we've discussed it."

Sam blinked in surprise. Dean's version of 'discussing' usually meant bringing the person down to size and telling them how incredibly stupid they were. Sam really didn't think Dean had done that with John Winchester.

From the way Dean was looking at him now, though, maybe he _had_ spoken to John. "Bet he was thrilled," Sam said hoarsely.

"Don't care if he was or not," Dean said. "He had no right to tell you that. None. He was scared and angry, I get that. There wasn't any excuse to take it out on you."

"But I-"

"Don't even start, Sammy. It wasn't your fault. You hear me?"

Sam gazed up at his brother, seeing the anger still prevalent on his face. There was concern in his eyes too, though, and a love that was so obvious anyone that was blind could've seen it. "I can't believe I missed you calling me Sammy," he finally said softly.

Dean stared at him for a moment more, then finally, _finally_, began to smile. "Don't think by saying crap like that you're getting out of the ass-kicking," he said.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam replied, and Dean's smile got even wider.

"Good. I've had nothing else to think about for the past day waiting for you to wake the hell up. I've got it all planned out."

"I bet you do," Sam said as Dean leaned back into the wheelchair with a wince. "Is Dad okay?"

Dean raised his eyebrow. "Besides the tongue lashing I gave him? Yeah; the Demon didn't throw him around too bad." His face began to form into a glare once more. "And THAT sonuvabitch hasn't been seen since yesterday. Which is good, I guess, but..."

"We'll get him," Sam said, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah, we will. And whatever he's got planned for you isn't gonna happen. I won't let it," Dean promised.

With the look on Dean's face displaying his determination and care for everyone to see, Sam had to wonder why he was ever worried in the first place. He had Dean on his side. That was all he really needed.

The fear of Dean's possible death was slowly fading with each minute spent with him, safe in the knowledge that Dean was right here and would be right there. Sam hadn't lost him. "I know you won't," he said.

Whatever Dean would've said in response was lost when a petite nurse came in, smiling at them both. "Good to see you awake! I'm surprised you didn't collapse earlier, though, considering what your body's been through," she said perkily, turning to Dean. "I've gotta take you back to your room sweetheart. The doctor needs to talk to him and then he needs to rest."

"I'll be back later," Dean promised. "Expect Dad to pop in, too."

"Yeah, and _that_ won't be awkward," Sam said sarcastically, causing Dean to grin. "How bad a tongue lashing did you seriously give him? Be honest, Dean. Is 'tongue lashing' even the right phrase?" They were talking John Winchester, here, after all.

Dean's grin only broadened in response. Sam found his jaw dropping slightly. "Holy _crap_," he said in awe.

The nurse took the handles of the wheelchair and pulled Dean away from Sam's bed. "If he tries to talk you into helping him bust out, ignore him," Sam said, earning a dirty look from his brother.

"Oh trust me, I will," the nurse promised, turning the wheelchair towards the door. "And he's already tried. This was our compromise, bringing him in here."

Sam smiled at that. That sounded like Dean all right.

The nurse stopped at the door, and Sam frowned until he saw her turning Dean back towards Sam, Dean glancing away from her to Sam. "What you were willing to do..." Dean paused a moment, then said, "I didn't like you doing it or even thinking about it. But it...it meant a lot. That you were willing to go that far for me."

Sam found his eyes were burning again, and Dean's own eyes looked a little red. "Just don't do it again," Dean said after he'd swallowed, and Sam laughed softly.

"No promises, bro. Not any more than I could get you to promise the same."

Dean made an annoyed face at that, and Sam's laugh felt less constricted than the first.

The nurse looked between the two of them and shook her head. "You two boys are something else," she said, turning to push Dean out of the room once more. "I've never seen brothers more connected and dedicated than you two, and your dad? You're both very lucky."

Sam watched them go, relaxing back into the bed and smiling. "I know," he said softly. "Trust me, I know."


End file.
